No Way Out
by OCDdegrassi
Summary: Percy decides to take his own life, but not before remembering the things that led him to that decision. Suicide and incestuous thoughts.


**Title:** No Way Out  
><strong>Author:<strong> OCDdegrassi  
><strong>Pairing:<strong> Percy/Charlie (Perceived Unrequited)  
><strong>Rating:<strong> M  
><strong>Warning:<strong> Angst, Suicide, Incest (Slash)  
><strong>Note:<strong> Several notes before this starts (please read):  
>1. This is a depressing, angsty, tragic, and even scary take on suicide, so please do not read if this will be triggering for you!<br>2. This is not meant to bash the Weasley's or Molly/Arthur. Parents are not perfect, and they make mistakes, and just because I do not agree with every aspect of their personality does not mean that I hate them or am bashing them. It's not that black and white. However, this is a dark story, so of course, I'm not going to include all of their good traits, because it wouldn't fit with the context.  
>3. Keep in mind that this is from Percy's point of view, so his perspective of things may not be accurate to reality. For example, Percy thinks that his love is unrequited, but that's not necessarily true. That's up to your interpretation.<br>4. This takes place after book 5 but before book 7.  
>4. Written for the "Incest Competition" and "For Those with a Darker Mind Competition." Prompts used: Suicidal!Percy and black.<p>

xxx

Percy stared at the knife he was holding, metal glistening as it reflected the candlelight that was illuminating the room. His hands trembled slightly from nerves as he tried to swallow down the lump that had formed in his throat. This was it; the end. These were his last few moments of life. It seemed pathetic. He wasn't even going out with a bang, like dying in a battle or from some crazy accident that would always be remembered. This was boring. It was fitting for him, really. A disappointing way to end a disappointing life. Still, he couldn't help but feel saddened by how anticlimactic it was.

He didn't even want to die. He truly didn't, but he couldn't see any other way. He couldn't keep going like this, and nothing was ever going to change. There was no light at the end of the tunnel; just never-ending darkness. This was the only option that he had left. That didn't stop the slight fear that radiated through his body though. This was permanent. There was no going back from this. But he was tired, so tired. He was emotionally drained, and his entire body felt achy and sore constantly. It was a struggle just to get out of bed in the morning. He wished he could sleep all day, to escape to a temporary refuge, but lately, even his dreams weren't bringing him comfort.

All he felt was bitterness and self-hatred. All the stupid motivational posters said "love yourself", but that was a load of crap. How can you love yourself when you're so screwed up inside that you barely recognize yourself? He felt like nothing – an empty, hollow shell; the pathetic remains of a man and his pride. He didn't even feel like he was living anymore. He was just going through the motions every day, and he was tired of it.

He had worked so hard his entire life. He followed the rules, studied hard to get good grades, and bypassed a social life in favor of preparing for his future. And what did it get him? An empty, lonely apartment and a life-time full of regrets. Maybe the twins had it right all along. They always lived their lives to the fullest, never worrying about the consequences or ramifications. It seemed too impulsive to Percy, but at least they wouldn't wake up one day and feel like they'd missed out on their entire life.

Percy was only 20, but it still felt like his best years had already passed by him, and the future looked even bleaker. What did he have to look forward to? A career where he was overworked, yet underpaid and underappreciated; holidays spent alone because he pushed away everyone around him; a lifetime devoid of love, because who could ever love someone like him? He didn't even love himself. He was damaged; broken beyond repair. There was nothing worth saving.

He was arrogant and self-righteous, but what no one realized was that it was all a defense mechanism. He hated himself, but he hid it behind a mask of superiority that was as fake as leprechaun gold. If he acted confident, then maybe, just maybe, one day he would actually feel it inside.

He was a strict and rigidly followed the rules, and he expected others to do the same. How could he not? He still remembers growing up during the First Wizarding War – how they moved from safe house to safe house, hiding under beds and having to stay quiet to stay alive. They couldn't go outside, no matter how much they missed the fresh air, and they couldn't even listen to music, because it was too loud and might give away their position. During those times, they had to follow the rules or they'd end up dead.

Percy barely remembers seeing his father during that time. Arthur was either working or fighting with the Order. Bill and Charlie were off at Hogwarts, and their mom had her hands full with Ginny and Ron, so that left Percy in charge of the twins. He had to make sure they followed the rules in order to keep them safe. It was the only way. If he didn't instill discipline into them, then they wouldn't survive, because their mother certainly wasn't going to do it.

He should have stopped doing that after the war was over, he knew that. He even tried to, but it was so far ingrained into his mind that he couldn't manage to break the habit. He just wanted to keep everyone safe. Yet all he got in return was their hatred and resentment. The twins despised him. They tormented him constantly and made it perfectly clear that he didn't belong in their family. He was always the odd one out. It was always Bill and Charlie, Fred and George, Ron and Ginny, and then Percy on the outside looking in.

After the twins were born, Percy had hoped that he would be as close to them as Bill and Charlie had always been, but Fred and George already had each other, and they didn't need nor want him. So he channeled his hope into Ron, but then Ginny was born so soon after that the youngest Weasley's had always had a special bond that Percy could never manage to be a part of. Ron seemed to hate him as much as the twins did.

He once overheard Ron saying that Percy would send them straight to the dementors if he even thought they were guilty. Hearing that was like a punch to the stomach, knocking the air from his lungs. His little brother, the one he had always adored and looked after, thought so little of him. Yes, Percy was stern and expected them all to follow the rules, but he would never give them over to the dementor's kiss, no matter what they had done. He would do anything to protect them. But it was like they didn't know him at all.

In reality, they probably didn't. How could they? He was never one of them; never fit in with the rest of the Weasley's. He was different than them, and they never understood it. They thought that because he didn't wear his heart on his sleeve or have huge emotional outbursts, then he must not have any feelings at all. They were wrong. He cared so deeply that it hurt sometimes. He just couldn't show it; he didn't know how to.

His mother acted like she loved him, but sometimes Percy felt like she was only doing it out of obligation. He always believed that she doted on him because she felt sorry for him; the screwed up, outsider of the family. Why else would she? He wasn't special. He never had been. His own father laughed at the jokes that were at Percy's expense. Did he have any idea how much that hurt? That his father, his champion, thought it was funny to tease and ridicule him.

Percy idly realized that his father would probably be proud of him for doing this the muggle way. He didn't have much of a choice. You had to really mean it for the killing curse to work, but Percy was too weak and too much of a coward to successfully perform it on himself. He wasn't even good enough to kill himself properly. It was pathetic. Reflecting on his life was only making him more determined to end it.

He had always felt distanced from the family, using left to his own devices with only a pet rat for company. The fact that said rat turned out to be a middle-aged man was disturbing in and of itself. He felt the bile rise in his throat as he thought of all the times he had shared a bed with Scabbers and changed in front of him. He felt violated and disgusted. But maybe that was exactly what he deserved for having such sick and twisted feelings for his own brother. Maybe Scabbers was supposed to be his karma before he was even old enough to deserve it.

Percy loved Charlie. He idolized and adored him. Of all his siblings, Charlie was the only one who ever seemed to care about him. He would invite Percy to play with him and Bill sometimes, and he always comforted Percy whenever he was hurt. Charlie was the one who put Band-Aids on his scraped knees and kissed his boo-boos to make them better.

Charlie was the one who told him bedtime stories, and shared his candy with him, and ruffled his hair whenever he walked by (Percy happily noticed that Charlie didn't do that to any of their other siblings, and it made him feel special). It was Charlie that Percy always ran to whenever he had a nightmare. Charlie would always lift up the sheets so Percy could climb into the bed, and then his big brother would hold him and whisper soothing words until Percy fell back asleep. Those were some of Percy's favorite memories.

He stopped going to Charlie when he realized that his feelings for his brother were more than familial. It was the same time that he told Charlie to stop touching his hair. He remembered how Charlie had looked hurt and confused, but he did as Percy asked, and Percy had tried to ignore how much he missed his brother's gentle touches.

He had to learn to live without them. If Charlie knew about his feelings, then his older brother would hate him, and that was something that Percy could not live with. He could handle his love being unrequited, but he couldn't handle it if Charlie ever looked at him with disgust. So he did the only thing that he could: he distanced himself so that would never happen. If Charlie ever looked at him with coldness and hatred in his gaze, it would kill him. He realized how ironic that was given his current situation, and he almost laughed.

He had to end this. He was a pervert who didn't deserve to live. He shouldn't be aroused by the sight of burns and scars across Charlie's tanned skin. He shouldn't want to run his fingers over the dragon tattoo on his chest. He shouldn't dream of feeling those rough, calloused hands slide up his body or those chapped yet soft lips litter kisses across his skin reverently. But that sounded like heaven to him. No, not heaven; it was too wrong to be heaven. It was more like an oasis in hell.

He felt guilty every time he wanked to thoughts of his older brother, his hand stroking the sensitive flesh roughly in order to punish himself for his evil thoughts. It was almost a relief when Charlie moved to Romania, despite the painful ache in Percy's chest at the thought of Charlie not being around. Then the argument with his father happened.

Leaving Charlie behind was the most difficult part of the separation, yet it was also the most necessary. All of the letters that Charlie sent were left unopened in a drawer of Percy's desk. He couldn't read the anger or disappointment in his words. He loved Charlie too much.

Percy always followed the rules and tried to stay behind the line that divided right from wrong, but for Charlie, he'd jump over that line and never look back. He would give anything, anything, to feel as if Charlie loved him back, just for a moment. It didn't even have to last. One moment would be enough to get him through a lifetime. But he would never even have that.

His resolve grew stronger from the thought. There was nothing left for him in this world. He placed the cool metal of the knife against his wrist, pressing down and sliding it across his skin. It burned, and he started to feel light-headed and dizzy as he watched the blood ooze rapidly from the wound, staining his skin red and falling to the floor in droplets. Everything was blurry and seemed so far away. He vaguely realized that he had collapsed onto the floor, but he didn't remember it happening. It was silent. Too silent.

He suddenly started to panic. He couldn't hear or see anything. He felt the fear rip through him like a tsunami. This was it; he was going to die. He suddenly wasn't ready anymore. It was too soon. His heart started beating rapidly as he gasped for breath. He felt like he was drowning, trying to swim to the surface but being pulled back down by some invisible force. He was scared. He didn't want to die alone. But it didn't matter if he was ready, because death was coming for him, and the world was turning black. He had dug his grave, and now there was no way out.

xxx

**A/N:** I know this ending is very upsetting, and I'm sorry, but I've read so many stories that describe suicide as a relief or comfort, and suicide should not be glorified in this way, because it's a permanent solution to a temporary problem. I'm guilty of writing it that way myself, but that's also why I wanted to make this story more realistic. Not everyone who commits suicide will feel relief at the end. Just ask people who attempted it and almost died. It's tragic and terrible. Still, I'm very sorry if this was too upsetting for some people. Reviews are lovely, but flames are not.


End file.
